The Relational Imperative
by MadeOfStars
Summary: It is easier to control someone by influencing their emotions instead of dominating their will... A post-Jacksonville casefic.
1. Logan International

**Disclaimer 1**: I do not own Fringe, any characters, or pretty much anything you recognize here…

**Disclaimer 2**: I write what I know and that is mental health. Much of the science presented here is based in actual fact and I have carried it out to the Fringe-y extreme for the purpose of this story. Does anyone know if I can/should post the names for the actual researchers/books/brand name drugs or if that has to stay out of the fic?

**A/N**: This casefic story is set post-Jacksonville and picks up just after Far, Far Away from my Heart (feel free to read it first). It can stand alone though and presupposes that Peter already knows about his origins and is still working on dealing with that. My goal is to have this completed before the show returns on April 1. Enjoy!

Logan International Airport

Terminal E: International flights

The bomb exploded outside Gate 12, where boarding for Oceanic Air 815 was set to begin. The terminal had been unusually still, exceptionally quiet for a busy international airport filled with irritated travelers that had just suffered though stringent security checks. Then the terminal was rocked by the blast, sound booming off the walls, debris flying and smoke filling the air. One sound was noted only for its absence: There was no screaming of frightened or injured passengers.

**********

Olivia reached the terminal approximately one hour after the detonation, with Peter Bishop in tow. Once on site, they met with Broyles to be briefed on the case.

"Dunham, Bishop." Broyles nodded sharply at them. "What we know is this. There was a small ordinance detonated near Gate 12. Forensics is evaluating the ordinance now but nothing unusual has been found. What is unusual is that this individual sailed through all the security checks for international flights, moved all the passengers to the other end of the terminal, and appears to have detonated a bomb with the intent to spare all human lives."

"Are those the passengers down there?" Peter asked, noting that the group was sitting in near silence and in perfect stillness. "What's with them?"

"Yes. The passengers are being held there for individual questioning and debriefing. It has been noted that they are all calm, perfectly relaxed, and almost unaware that this situation should be extremely stressful. Between them and the complete absence of security protocol, it appears to be a Fringe Division case." Broyles handed over the case file, nodded to them and walked away.

"Ok. Sounds interesting," Peter commented, looking over the silent crowd. "I am sure Walter will want blood work, MRIs and CT scans on anyone that will consent. Well, knowing Walter, he would want them on everyone, consent or not."

"Ok," she responded. "We'll make consent for testing part of the debriefing."

**********

With the number of passengers and employees involved in the incident numbering in the hundreds and not being allowed to leave the premises, the airport had redirected all flights to other terminals. That left the Fringe Division to start questioning and debriefing procedures there. Key witnesses would be taken back to video-monitored rooms for full interviews. Blood was drawn on-site once the phlebotomy techs arrived; the first group of witnesses went to Mass General for scans after an hour.

It was almost two hours into the debriefing process before any of the witnesses started to become anything less than perfectly tranquil. It started with a physical restlessness, then it moved into anxious uncertainty before developing into the full-fledged distress one would expect to see after a bombing.

Olivia was set up at a makeshift desk at the one of the gates, organizing information on the witnesses while other agents were conducting the preliminary interviews. She was sorting lists of employees, flight manifests, names of witnesses taken to Mass General, and witnesses tapped for full interviews when Peter wandered up to her side.

"Walter is going to be pissed…"

"What? Why?" She was startled from her lists by the comment, then caught the sarcastic tone in his voice. She might enjoy Walter being irked but not at the expense of the case.

"Look at the passengers. They're getting agitated, so whatever happened is wearing off. I sure hope the techs are time-stamping all the blood they draw."

"Don't worry, they are." She smiled before taking a breath and continuing the update. "So far, we've gotten preliminary reports from all the Oceanic passengers who were actually moved out of the area and most of the TSA security guys from this area. No one can say for certain what this person looked like, how he was dressed, even if it was a 'he' and not a 'she'. No one can even say why they complied. But look at this…"

She flipped open her laptop and pulled up security video. It showed a figure in a long gray coat carrying a bag and walking confidently through the airport. The suspect jostled through the security lines for international flights and sailed through the metal detectors without drawing anything more than a smile from the TSA agent standing there. The video feed then changed cameras, showing the terminal. The suspect moved down the corridor purposefully, set his bag down at the gate and turned, at which point he gestured toward the end of the terminal. Moments later, all passengers and staff simply gathered up their belongings and went.

"It's too small to see faces clearly on this video, but the body language is totally relaxed," she said. "No one upset, no one concerned, no one anything but perfectly compliant."

"Creepy, all right," he mused. "Right up our alley."

**********


	2. Back at the Lab

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Fringe, any characters, or pretty much anything you recognize here including the basis of the science used…

**A/N**: Many thanks for reviews, alerts, and favorites for this story. You guys make my day!!

The rest of the day was spent managing the increasingly volatile crowd of witnesses and gleaning through the interviews in search of leads. Analysis of the video feed revealed that the suspect was approximately 5' 11" and male but his face was never clearly visible. Full interviews of 14 individuals were scheduled for the next day and things were being wrapped up at the site. Forensics was looking into bomb components, analysts were reviewing background data on all witnesses, and medical reports were just starting to come back. Olivia noticed Peter standing at a window and staring at the flashing runway lights.

"You look tired," she said, drawing him out of his reverie.

"Yeah, well, it's been a long day," he sighed, "with not one but two meals at the airport." He smiled to assure her he was joking, but then he turned to the window again. "Sometimes I just want to go," he said softly, half to himself.

"I know," she murmured. "I wish things were different too." The past weighed heavily on them both for a moment, then she shook it off. "So what do you want to do now?"

"Why don't you just drop me off at the lab? I bet the medical reports will be coming in all night. I can organize that before you come back tomorrow."

She nodded, respecting his desire for space, understanding the need to focus on something else for a while.

**********

Back at the lab, Peter flicked on a few lights and apologized to Gene for the disturbance. He laughed at the relative absurdity of talking to a cow before the intensity of the last two days settled back on his shoulders. Two days ago, his knew his life. Two days ago, he knew where he stood in the grand scheme of things. He had grown up the child of a loving mother and a disturbed scientist. He had spent most of his adult life wandering, committing to little but always keeping the stakes high enough to be interesting. He had returned to Boston because of a sharp-edged blonde who first earned his admiration for out-manipulating him, earning it several times since for other reasons. He managed to reconnect with his father and build something of a relationship with him. Between the girl, the man, and the cases, the stakes grew high enough to keep his interest. He thought that's why he stayed.

Now he felt like he was on the precipice of losing everything, the life he created, the roots he put down without realizing he'd done so. Everything was different but everything was the same, except that he knew where he was from, knew how he'd gotten pulled into this life. The only thing different was his ability to choose to continue it, change it or leave it behind. It was unsettling.

He sighed. He almost wished he had gone back to Olivia's. He knew she would have allowed it, maybe even encouraged it. He smiled at the thought, but knew he needed to be clearheaded for that. And clear he wasn't. He shook off the thoughts and sat down at the computer to sort through the medical records. One thing he learned from Olivia was how to focus in the face of stress.

**********

She found him the next morning asleep in the lab on the couch, a thin blanket his only cover. She spoke his name softly but received no response. She knelt before him, allowing her gaze to linger on his face, so peaceful in sleep. More peaceful than she had seen him before, so she hated to disrupt it. There had been enough disruption lately. Instead, she sat in a nearby chair and enjoyed some coffee in silence. She watched him sleep a little longer, then busied herself with looking over his notes on the data sent from Mass General.

"Good morning," she said, as she heard him shifting on the couch. "I brought you coffee, but I'm pretty sure it's cold now…"

"How long have you been here?" His voice was gruff as he rubbed his eyes and stretched.

"Long enough. I started looking over the reports but can't make much of the medical stuff."

"Give me a minute and I'll catch you up," he said, getting up and moving to grab his duffel bag. Ten minutes later, he was dressed in fresh clothes with a reheated cup of coffee in hand.

"Ok," he said, flipping through various papers spread out on the table. "Here's what we've got. Tox screens mostly came back negative. We have a few people on prescription opiates for pain; about twenty on benzos, some legitimately prescribed, some not; a good lot of people tested positive for marijuana, but there was nothing in common for everyone. No drugs, no toxins, nothing that easy. Interestingly, everyone tested had abnormally low levels of cortisol, though people tested later showed slightly higher levels than those first tested."

"What's cortisol? What does it do?"

"Cortisol is a stress hormone. It is released as part of the fight or flight response and has several functions, including helping to create intense memories for disturbing events so people will remember to stay away from that threat in the future. It is normally present in high levels after a traumatic event."

"So what Broyles said was true at a biological level. These people were not aware they were experiencing something stressful." She drew her brow together, considering this information. "And if it is involved in memory formation, very low levels might explain why no one could describe what exactly happened."

"It explains that part of it. The question is what this guy did to create the low cortisol levels, with no drugs or toxins to interfere with cortisol in the first place."

"Some kind of mind control," she suggested, voice raising slightly in question.

"From the outside, it looks like it. Brains scans don't show any lesions or damage though, and every other case of mind control has produced some kind of injury. The mind struggles fiercely against being controlled."

"Yeah, it does," she said thoughtfully, her expression softening. "People don't like being controlled." She caught his eye and held his gaze for a moment. He turned away first, reaching for the coffee she brought him.

"No, they don't," he replied quietly, his thoughts drifting toward the past for a moment. Her hand, laid gently on his arm, brought him back to the present.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

His hand covered hers, accepting her touch even as he dismissed her words. "You didn't do anything to apologize for, 'Livia" he said, his voice low.

The rattle of the lab door drew their attention and the moment slipped away, replaced by a professional focus on the case. Astrid had arrived with Walter.


	3. Feels like Free Will

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Fringe, any characters, or pretty much anything you recognize here including the basis of the science used…

**A/N**: Many thanks for reviews, alerts, and favorites for this story. I always appreciate feedback!

Olivia noticed Peter tense when he saw Walter enter the lab. They both knew it was coming but that did not make it any easier. Olivia's anger flared at Walter's actions, his deceit, and she wondered how Peter would be able to work with him, knowing about it all. But Peter had surprised her with the way he had accepted the news. Yes, he spent most of that day intoxicated, she thought with a mental grin, but he remained self-possessed even after learning his self wasn't quite what he thought it was. She was impressed, but wondered if it affected him the way learning about the Cortexiphan trials got to her. It was not something she showed outwardly but inside the doubts needled her, making her question memories of herself, her family. She was pulled from the thoughts by movement at her side. She turned to see Peter take a deep breath.

"Morning Astrid, Walter." Peter acknowledged both Astrid and Walter, who had frozen just inside the doorway.

"Morning Peter, Olivia," Astrid replied, clearly aware of the tension in the room as she moved toward her desk. "What do we have so far?"

Olivia updated her on the bombing, the findings from forensics, and the on-site interviews. She gave a brief explanation of the medical data and requested Walter look over the brain scans and blood work to see if he notices anything pertinent. At the request, Walter looked up and finally moved into the room, leaving his position by the door. She noticed he looked haggard and uncertain and suddenly felt unwanted sympathy for him. Peter looked away, a barely perceptible sadness on his face.

"Astrid, you and Walter go over the medical data and see if you can find anything on low cortisol levels in the psych literature. It looks like some kind of mind control but doesn't function like anything we've seen before. We have some interviews scheduled for today to see if we can pull anything else from the witnesses. Let me know if you come up with anything," she said, solving the problem of tension by escaping the situation. "Let's go, Peter."

He trailed her out of the lab and into the crisp air of a Boston winter. Fresh air always helped clear his mind, as would concentrating on the case. "So, who are we interviewing?"

"Anyone who had close contact with the suspect, as best we can tell from the video feed. Also, we have a few witnesses with interesting backgrounds. One with ties to a radical Islam faction, though this really does not look like a terrorist attack; one TSA agent; even a couple of scientists, though honestly it looked like the research is valid and unrelated to the case. You never know."

Peter simply nodded in response.

**********

The first interview yielded unexpected results. The witness, Khalifa Hassan, had been the man seen talking to the suspect at the gate and had been first to gather his bag and walk away. In the course of questioning, he acknowledged donating money to and communicating with a known terrorist cell. It was not related to this case so it was punted over to DHS for interrogation. He was not able to shed any light on this case, however, so they moved on to the next witness.

"Who's next up," Peter asked. Olivia handed him the file compiled by the analysts.

"Brian McAllister, TSA security administrator. He was the one who allowed the suspect to pass through security with the bomb," she summarized as the witness was seated in the other room. "He denied being able to recall anything specific. He's been employed with the TSA for 19 months now, prior to that he was a corrections officer."

She gave Peter a moment to review the file before they entered the interrogation room. Olivia introduced them and explained the purpose of the full interview to this witness.

"Listen," he said, "I know that this looks really bad, but I swear I did not let him by on purpose. I told you people yesterday, I don't know what happened. I would never let someone do something like this on purpose." He seemed stressed but genuine in his response.

"Look, we need to know exactly what happened. What you were thinking, what he said, how you decided to let him by." Olivia leaned across the table at him, a serious expression on her face.

McAllister sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "I remember noticing someone moving through the security lines. He was moving quickly and easily through the crowd, which just doesn't happen, you know. But no one seemed to mind, no one said anything. And then he walked up to me. He said something, but I can't remember what it was. And I think he was wearing a gray coat, think he had dark hair but I'm not even sure about that."

"Can you remember what you were feeling when he was there," Peter asked, steering the line of questioning away from details the witness could simply not recall.

"Yeah. I felt perfectly calm, as if this was just what I was supposed to do. Totally normal, everyday stuff, like letting a guy breach all protocol was nothing. Listen, I take my job seriously. I hate the TSA stereotypes, that all of us are just lazy, untrained idiots waving people through lines. I've been in law enforcement," he said forcefully, "I was always careful with the inmates, or someone would get hurt. I just don't do _this_," he declared, his frustration with himself evident.

Olivia felt compelled to reassure him, but it was Peter who spoke. "You aren't the only one to behave out of character yesterday. Something happened there, we're just not sure what yet."

The rest of the interview with McAllister did not yield anything noteworthy. Nor did the interviews with the scientists, the gate agents, or any of the other witnesses. All denied any memory for what the suspect said and only vague impressions about his physical description. Consistently, they all reported feeling that they felt perfectly calm when they made the choices they did, though all were feeling appalled today. Later, sitting at her desk at the Bureau, they reviewed what little they had gotten from the interviews.

"So to summarize," Peter quipped, "it felt like free will but ran counter to any instincts and training these people had." He made a small noise of recognition. "Makes sense."

"What does?"

"First rule of cons," he said, cocking his head and quirking a little smile. "Make them think it was their idea. Always goes more smoothly that way. In context here, it would be easier to control someone's behavior by manipulating their emotions than dominating their will."

Olivia took a moment to take that in and wondered how they had both been manipulated and by whom. "Ok," she said finally. "Let's go see what Walter and Astrid have got."


	4. Riot at the Game

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Fringe, any characters, the science, or pretty much anything you recognize…

Peter hesitated before going into the lab, lingering in the hall with his hand on the door. He paused, listening to the unexpected sound of Joni Mitchell and steeling himself to deal with Walter.

Olivia stepped in close. "I know it's hard," she said quietly, looking up at him. "You don't have to stay…"

"You're giving me an out," he said, raising his brows at her in question before dropping the sarcasm. "S'ok, 'Livia. I told you I can handle this."

"I know," she paused before rushing out the rest of the sentence. "It's just that you shouldn't have to."

He recognized her effort to reach out and matched her gesture with one of his own. He settled his hand on her shoulder as he nodded at her, squeezing gently before he turned the handle to the door. She smiled as he turned away, pleased with the simple contact.

They entered the lab to find Astrid engrossed in reading on the computer and Walter sitting near Gene, eating noodles from a large bowl. Astrid greeted them at once, seemingly eager to have a break.

"So who gets to give the update first," she asked brightly, "because if you have as much as we have, we'll be here all night…"

"Fortunately, Astrid," Peter replied sardonically, "our recap is surprisingly short. In a nutshell, no one had anything that would qualify as a lead. The most useful thing we got was that they all were perfectly calm doing things that were completely out of character."

"So they _felt_ that what they were doing was right?" Walter piped in almost cautiously, but began to grow excited as the ideas flowed. "Mind control masquerading as free will. What an excellent idea. Yes, that could explain the lack of lesions on the brains. They would not fight an impulse they believed was their own." He wandered back to review brain images while Peter's eyes narrowed at the talk of manipulation.

"So what did you find, Astrid?" Olivia smoothly stepped in to change the subject, focusing them all back on the case.

"Well," she replied, organizing her notes, "we found no cases of abnormally low cortisol in the clinical literature outside of medical problems, like pituitary lesions or endocrine disorders. There was a lot of research on ways to lower cortisol levels, particularly in traumatized individuals. Mostly types of therapy or Eastern medicine, like EMDR, mindfulness, meditation, yoga, Tai Chi."

"The goal of Tai Chi is to focus the mind into stillness while actively moving the body," Walter declared, gesturing grandly. "It also improves digestion and elimination."

"Thank you Walter," Peter deadpanned. "Astrid, you were saying?"

"Basically that there are lots of ways to reduce stress levels after trauma but only beta blockers could prevent post-traumatic stress symptoms if administered quickly enough. Nothing in the research had identified ways to prevent cortisol increases in response to stressors, especially ones that haven't happened yet." She stopped then and reached for a file on her desk. "This, however, you might find interesting."

"What is it?" Olivia took the file and began looking it over.

"Remember a couple weeks ago, the riot that started at the Celtics game? I remembered the headlines where people claimed they had no idea why they started fighting anyway. Some of those folks were charged with assault, others were considered self-defense. Anyway, it was definitely out of character according to the participants and witnesses so I started digging. Look at this," she said, pulling up footage from the game. She pointed at the screen. "Here is your guy in gray. This was taken a few minutes before the fighting started."

The video showed a man in a long gray coat heading down the stairs and walking among the rows, seemingly at random. He stopped a few times and sat, turning to spectators in what appeared to be a conversation. Within minutes, people jumped to their feet and escalated quickly into violence.

"I found him walking around just before the fighting broke out in three different sections of the stadium. I never saw his face, but I am sure it is the same guy."

"So it's all peace and tranquility at the airport, but violence here? Why change the M.O.? I don't get it," Olivia puzzled.

"No, the M.O. is the same," Peter countered. "He is using emotions to cause actions. It's like he is practicing. Anger is easy, even easier at a sporting event where people have to choose sides. He got people fighting and no one even noticed there was something unusual about it."

Olivia nodded in agreement as she considered what to do next. "Astrid, can you pull arrest records for anyone involved in the melee? Maybe we can re-interview some of them and get something more to go on."

"Sure thing. I'll have it ready for you by morning." She glanced around, spied Walter holding up brain images, and dropped her voice discreetly. "What is the plan for Walter tonight?"

"I'm going home," Peter replied. "I'll stay with him. But would it be all right if he stayed here for a while and you drop him off? I know I've asked a lot of you Astrid, dealing with him the last few days and I'd understand if you refuse..."

"I wouldn't refuse you, Peter. He has certainly been a handful, but you need time too. I'll call before I bring him by." She smiled gently and he appreciated her kindness.

"Thanks Astrid." He met her caring gaze before moving to grab his bag, still sitting by the couch. He turned to Olivia and flashed a tired smile at her. "Think I can get a ride home? Somehow I am still without a car…"

"No problem. Let's go," she replied.

**********

Back in the car, his stomach grumbled loudly. "Got any plans for dinner?" he asked. "I'm not sure what's at the house, but there's always take-out…"

"How about Thai? I think we're a little too sober for Chinese," she joked.

"That could be remedied," he said charmingly, not entirely serious but not entirely joking either.

She was not quite sure how to take his response. She thought it was an invitation of sorts and she was tempted, but knew better than to jeopardize the case. She decided instead to compromise. "Let's plan for Chinese _after_ this case is resolved."

"Sounds like a plan."

**********

Thai eaten, plates cleared, a comfortable silence had fallen over them. Peter let his eyes drift to her face and sighed quietly at the sight. She appeared lost in thought, starting at an old photograph Walter set out.

"Do you ever wonder," she murmured, "do you ever just want to start digging around to see what else wasn't true?"

"Yes, actually. I was just considering looking up old photographs; see if I could see the difference." He gestured, pointing at imaginary images, "Not me, me…" He shook his head. "I am sure my mother put them all away. Or else he did. For some reason, it makes me think about this thing that happened in high school."

She inclined her head in his direction, curious about how anything in high school could relate.

He huffed a little and smiled at the memory. "So I was dating this girl. We were together about a year and a half, she went away to college, things just fell apart. Anyway, we stayed friends, really good friends for years. Then one day she tells me that when we were together, she cheated on me with a guy that was a good friend of mine at the time. I didn't even know how to react. Part of me wanted to be mad, upset, something, but reality was that it was a long time ago. She was different and so was I. Though it did explain why Andy got so weird…" He turned to face Olivia and held her gaze intensely. "This is different, but not really. All the things I am mad at Walter for, all the ways he's screwed up, this is just one spectacularly big example. And what I know about my life, the things I remember, that's real. I have to trust that."

She sat still, pondering that, before he spoke again. "Sounds good, doesn't it?" She couldn't miss the sarcasm in his tone, and she smiled. "Only problem is that it all goes out the window when I actually see him…"

She nodded. "I totally understand."

**********

**A/N**: The high school story actually happened to me, except it was my guy who cheated with my (female) friend Andie… And I did want to be mad but just didn't find it relevant anymore. Of course, I did never see him again, though we stayed friends for a long time after his confession… Anyway, please let me know what you thought of this one. Thanks!


	5. Deja Vu

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Fringe, any characters, the science, or pretty much anything you recognize…

**A/N**: Many thanks to all readers and especially reviewers! Please let me know what you think of this one...

"Walter, we need to go in five minutes," he said in exasperation.

He received indistinct muttering in reply. He knew he should let it go, but the frustration was high already this morning. The evening had gone fairly well, in that once Astrid dropped Walter off, he was fed and apparently warned to be quiet. Walter flitted around the living room in such a nervous state that Peter had felt compelled to try to sooth him, but found himself gritting his teeth in spite of his choice to be compassionate. He even tried to rationalize it, claiming that calming Walter would only improve things for himself. And that was true, but it still felt like he was betraying himself somehow.

Yet he did it anyway, reassuring Walter that things would work out somehow, he just needed time. Time alone, which he then took by sequestering himself in his room. He could still hear Walter fretting at 2:18 am, when he last looked at the clock. He knew it would be a long morning, and he resolved to do something very nice for Astrid. He took a cleansing breath and laughed at the curious thought that his cortisol levels must be elevated right now.

"Walter," he tried again, aiming for a more peaceful tone. "We need to go. Now."

Still muttering, Walter shuffled down the stairs, pulling on a cardigan sweater. Peter watched without complaint as he wandered into the kitchen and opened a box of Ho-Hos.

"For breakfast?"

"But they're delicious, Peter. Even more so than the Swiss Cake Rolls or Zebra Cakes. And they pair so well with coffee."

"Well. That about sums it up."

"What do you mean, Peter?"

"Nothing, Walter," he said, sighing. "Let's go."

**********

Not surprisingly, Olivia was already waiting at the lab when they arrived. She gave him a searching look when he walked in and in silent communication, he indicated he was managing well enough. Satisfied, she turned to business directly.

"Here's what we've got. Obviously, no blood work. One guy had a head injury, so we requested his medical records since he got a CT scan at the hospital. At least we have something for comparison. All the police reports are pretty consistent and seem to fit. No one remembers any precipitating event, just that they suddenly became enraged and started fighting. No mention of the guy in the gray coat in any reports. We've got an interview with one of the participants later today. He's ex-military and facing assault charges right now."

"Walter, why don't you wait here to compare the brain scans," Peter suggested.

"I would be happy to, Peter," he proclaimed. "And no matter of the lack of blood work, Agent Dunham. Because the emotion targeted here was anger, I would expect a normal elevation in cortisol as a consequence of the aggressive impulse. I will just keep myself busy until those reports arrive," he said, turning away with a flourish of a Ho-Ho he withdrew from his pocket.

"Oh God, Peter," Astrid said, looking at him pointedly. "You let him have those snack cakes?"

"I owe you big, Astrid…"

**********

The man they were set to interview was Marcus Walker. He was 24, ex-Army, had served one tour in Afghanistan and one in Iraq, and was currently enrolled in Boston College studying computer science. Watching through the observation window, he appeared calm and collected but when a door slammed across the hall, his muscular frame twitched in a subtle startle response.

Olivia started the interview with introductions and briefly explained that the Bureau was interested in the case.

"What can you tell us about what happened that night," she started.

"I can tell you exactly what I told the police that night. I have no idea what happened. I was just enjoying myself at the game, then I was beating some guy senseless for no reason." He sighed in evident frustration. "I remember being really mad, enraged, but I can't come up with a reason why. And I have _every_ reason not to do something stupid like this."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that I have a wife and a baby girl at home, I am enrolled in college that the army is paying for, that if I get convicted of this I could lose everything. I have been working so hard to make thing better…" He trailed off, shaking his head.

Peter jumped in, curious. "You're trying to make things better? Were they worse before?"

"Yeah, they were worse. It's hard to come back from combat and just fit right in again. But I've been seeing someone at the VA and it's been helping me deal with stuff, you know."

"Like a therapist?" Olivia asked, her interest piqued.

"Yeah, a therapist. We've been doing EMDR and it's helped a lot. At least I'm not freaking out like I was before. I used to get so angry that doing something like this would not have been out of the ordinary for me. But not since I've been working on stuff."

"How does it work?" Olivia glanced at Peter, wondering about the connection to the case.

"Honestly, I can't really tell you. I know the counselor said that it had to do with how memories are stored and using brain stimulation to make healthy connections in the brain. It works though."

Olivia then pulled out a photograph of the man in gray, taken from the game's video footage. "Do you recognize this man?"

He looked puzzled for a moment before responding. "It kinda feels like déjà vu. I don't remember seeing him but something about the photo just seems… I don't know, familiar, maybe?"

They gave him time to review the photo but he produced nothing useful. They did let him know that they would assist him in getting the charges dropped since the Bureau considered his assault part of a larger case. Despite his curiosity, he was given no further details.

**********


	6. Mirrors

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Fringe, any characters, the science, or pretty much anything you recognize…

**A/N**: Many, many thanks to loyal reviewers (killmotion, Skate-815, oranfly, mochi-girl): Your feedback means so much! Ok, this one is a little science heavy, but it is all real (except for the mind control part, of course, and mixing those two drugs together)… Interestingly, even the research on the use of ecstasy for PTSD treatment is real (here in the US too). Who'd have believed that?? Hopefully it will keep your interest though…

**********

When Olivia and Peter got back to the lab, it was buzzing with active energy. Astrid was organizing stacks of printouts while Walter was shouting about findings in the brain scans over the loud sounds of Janis Joplin. Peter headed to quiet the old stereo while Olivia strode toward her desk, piled high with papers.

"Walter's very excited," Astrid stated, as Peter cut off the stereo. "He's found-"

"Mirror neurons," Walter exclaimed as he noticed their return, waving images of brain scans. "He's activating mirror neurons!"

"He's activating what, Walter?" Olivia looked perplexed as Walter rushed over.

"Mirror neurons, Agent Dunham. I overlooked it in the scans from the airport cohort because they all presented so similarly, all activated in the same way. But in this scan, it is obvious," he declared earnestly.

"What is obvious, Walter?"

Peter took the scans from his father and looked them over, nodding in recognition as he saw what Walter was seeing. "I've read about mirror neurons. Basically, some research proposes that the way people are able to understand one another is the activation of mirror neurons. So you raise your arm, using the motor cortex in your brain, and when I see it, my motor cortex activates, creating an understanding of your action."

"But how does this extend to emotions," she continued, unsure how it related.

"Some would say it doesn't," he replied. "It's still controversial."

"Something I read seems to support the idea, though," Astrid jumped in, shuffling though printouts. "A few things actually. In research on NICU babies, they have found that skin-to-skin contact with the parent can improve respiration, eating, and sleeping and they presume that the mirror neurons in the infant are being regulated by the parent. And in the EMDR research, they've found that the therapist can induce certain mood states in their clients."

"But wouldn't a therapist, or a parent for that matter, be able to regulate moods in the other by simply providing a soothing environment," Olivia questioned further.

"Well, maybe, but the research shows activation in certain mood areas of the brain," Astrid said before being interrupted by Walter.

"The right orbital-frontal cortex! When people are attuned to one another, both show activation in the right orbital-frontal cortex, as has happened here," he declared, pointing to the brain scans.

"Ok," Olivia conceded, accepting this unusual science. "So how does someone activate everyone at the same time?"

"Well, there has been research into increasing empathy through pharmaceutical intervention…" Walter suggested, trailing off.

"You mean drugs," Peter interjected.

"Yes, actually. In the early '80's, clinical trials of MDMA were shown to increase empathy in couples. Perhaps components of MDMA might be synthesized to increase empathy without the distracting side effects…" Walter turned to his papers, sketching chemical compounds.

"MDMA? Like Ecstasy? If you need test subjects for that, sign me up," Peter muttered with a smirk.

Still diagramming chemicals, Walter continued. "I would expect that something similar to Aricept would be involved too."

"The Alzheimer's medication?" Astrid asked.

"Yes," Walter replied. "It works by increasing function in the frontal cortex and Broca's area, the language centers of the brain. If you can increase empathic attunement and verbal ability at the same time, you should be able to influence the moods and thinking of others. But the dosage would have to be fairly high, over a long period."

"So we look for anyone who is ordering large quantities of Aricept and MDMA," Olivia clarified. "That's a start."

**********

Aricept was currently being used in three clinical trials in the metro Boston area, but one researcher, Dr. Julian Campbell, was clearly ordering more than would be expected. His research focused on post traumatic stress and he had been approved to study the effects of using both Aricept and MDMA as treatment for PTSD. It quickly became a matter of tracking him down and apprehending him safely. He had four properties in Boston: a home, two rentals, and one lab, and teams were sent to all of them. Olivia and Peter started at the lab, but that search left them empty-handed. They were able to confiscate some medication samples and sent some lab assistants for interrogation, but Campbell was nowhere to be found. Searches on the properties turned up evidence of an off-shore holding company, most likely the funding for the unofficial research he was conducting. A warehouse was listed in the name of this company and Olivia directed the FBI teams to head there, leaving only basic surveillance at the other locations.

Once on site, Olivia directed the teams to search the periphery in pairs of well-known partners, in case Campbell was able to exert influence over them. The hope was that the partners would know each other well enough to talk each other down if it came to that. After the perimeter was established, teams began entering the building, thankful for the daylight that kept them from walking in blind.

Peter and Olivia entered though a side door and looked around. They were greeted by silence and were alone in a well-lit hall, with doors opening off both sides. Gradually, they moved down the hall, checking doors as they moved along. The first was locked, but a quick look through the glass inset in the door showed the room to be unoccupied. Two more were like that, but the third door they tried opened onto a bright and open space, set up to be a well-equipped, working lab. It too was empty but appeared recently used, a lukewarm cup of coffee sitting by the computer.

Peter moved the mouse and saw a spreadsheet open, apparently documenting dosing schedules and in vivo experimentation. He pulled out a flash drive and downloaded the file for safekeeping without noticing that Olivia had slipped out the door, solely focused on apprehension of the subject.

He noticed her absence when he turned and his stomach dropped immediately. He heard steps in the hall, much too heavy to be hers, with none of the greetings he would expect from another team member. He cautiously approached the door and saw Campbell speaking to Olivia.

In an instant, she turned, leveling her gun at him. "I knew I couldn't trust you," she hissed, her face hard despite the vulnerability in her voice. "Why would you stay? You don't even belong here."

"Easy, Olivia… Don't let him get to you," he said, speaking softly. "You were ready for this. You're the one that can stop things like this."

"Stop talking," she said through clenched teeth. "Stop-"

"You always stop things like this," he continued, appealing to her sense of responsibility again. "You are the only one I know that can. So do it now." Peter saw Campbell's lips moving again, whispering to Olivia and saw her grimace in pain. She focused again and released the safety on her weapon with an audible click.

"I can't trust anyone," she growled. "Everyone lies, everyone wants something, no one sticks around, no one understands." Her eyes were growing wilder by the second, paranoid and panicked.

"I understand, Olivia," he replied softly. "I understand _you_. I've never lied to you, and I don't want to take anything from you. I just want to be with you," he murmured, approaching her slowly, reaching out to her. "You know how I feel. Trust what you know."

He was close enough to feel her hesitate, then draw a breath and aim, firing one shot into Campbell. Peter wasn't sure he'd survive the shot, but it largely didn't matter anymore. Campbell would never be a free man again.

At the sound of the shot, agents swarmed into the hall. Peter was pushed back by the tide of bodies filling the space and eventually headed outside when paramedics arrived. He saw the tension on Olivia's face and thought it wise to give her space. She looked like a tiger, fierce and wary and out of its cage. A disaster waiting to happen. He recalled that in the other cases, the effects of the emotional manipulation took hours to fully wear off and he dreaded the outcome here. She was already so guarded, so reluctant to open up and trust someone else that he feared this experience would shut her down further.

He didn't mention the incident to the other agents and was honestly surprised that she did. He supposed that her sense of responsibility outweighed her shame over being vulnerable. He kept back, out of her way, while she completed necessary paperwork on scene and gave her preliminary report to Broyles.

He went to approach her and was given a short shake of her head, a nervous dismissal, and he nodded in calm acceptance. There would be time for that later. He could wait.

**********

**A/N2**: Ok, one more chapter to go as currently planned… Lots of P/O ahead! Hope you enjoyed this, even though it was long, and please R&R!


	7. Undefined

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Fringe, any characters, the science, or pretty much anything you recognize…

**A/N**: Well, this is the end of the line for this story. Thank you all for reading and especially for those who reviewed. I hope you enjoy this post-case wrap up scene…

**********

When nine o'clock rolled around without a call from her, he decided to head over to her place. He decided that over the phone she would probably lie and lie convincingly (because that is what he would do, in her position), so a face-to-face meeting was in order. He considered bringing food but decided against it, preferring to get a read on the situation first.

She answered the door after a short wait, dressed for comfort: a sweatshirt over yoga pants. Her face was unreadable, but she allowed him to follow her in as she headed back to her couch. She resumed her perch there under a burgundy comforter and reached for her drink. He walked over to inspect her chosen beverage and eyed the bottle.

"Cointreau?"

"Yeah," she replied distantly.

He opened the bottle, sniffed it, and took a swig without asking. "Oranges, nice. Strong but smooth, not too girly," he teased lightly.

"I like it," she stated, a little hesitantly. "I don't just drink it to fit in with the boys at the Bureau. I drink it because I like it."

Several things clicked into place for Peter in that moment. Comfort clothes, warm blanket, a favorite drink, her hair down. She was trying to re-establish herself, her identity. He understood all too well and was willing to wait until she felt settled.

"Want a glass?" she asked quietly. "I've got Coke for a chaser, if you want one."

"Glass, yes. Chaser, no," he smirked, teasing again. "What kind of man needs a chaser for girly liquor?"

His gentle teasing earned him a smile from her as she meandered into the kitchen. He thanked her graciously when she returned and poured the Cointreau.

"It's best over ice," she said, explaining the cubes in the glass. "I used to drink it that way in college. Back when things made sense."

He sighed at her struggle. "He rattled you good, 'Livvy, but you know it wasn't your fault." He paused, trying to read her reaction. "You know that, right?"

"I don't like being vulnerable, you know that," she started slowly, considering each word. "But I like being manipulated even less. And sometimes I don't know who to believe." She paused, sighing. "I'm not even sure I can trust myself."

"Trust me, I understand," he replied easily. "One day I thought I knew who I was, the next I learn I am the kidnapped replacement son of a mad scientist. Kinda flips your world a little."

She looked up to see him sitting in one of her chairs, elbows resting on his knees, a small grin on his face. She appreciated his effort to lighten the mood, but felt compelled to follow the darkness through. "I'm sorry for what I said, in there," she said quietly, eyes dropping to her lap.

"Don't worry about it," he said, reassuring her. "Besides, it makes sense. He'd use the easiest emotion to get to and fear in that kind of situation is pretty high." He paused before continuing. "Is that something you are really afraid of, that I don't belong here?"

"That's not exactly it," she murmured, eyes still downcast. "It's more that because you don't belong here, that you won't stay."

"Olivia…."

She shook her head slightly, effectively cutting him off before he started making promises he couldn't keep. "I'm just so tired, Peter," she whispered, finally meeting his gaze.

He met her eyes without hesitation, his face a curious mixture of resignation and affection. He nodded and stood, reaching for his jacket. "Ok," he said softly. "I'll let you be. I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

He had taken a few steps toward the door, hadn't even gotten his jacket on, when the sound of her voice stilled him.

"Don't go."

He turned back to face her, seeing the invitation in her face, knowing she must see the questions in his.

"Stay."

He nodded in silence and as he headed back into the room, she moved along the couch, making space for him. Again, an astonishment. Instead of offering space at the other end of the couch, she moved forward toward the center. Knees drawn up, head resting on crossed arms, eyes still locked on him.

"Sit down."

She smiled as he did what was requested. She asked him to take off his shoes and waited, perfectly still, looking over her shoulder, until he understood. He grinned at her as he turned, sliding his leg along the inside of the couch, and she relaxed into him. He wrapped his arms around her and she sighed, melting back into him.

"I knew he was talking," she began, "but I couldn't seem to hear what he was saying. It was just an awareness that he was doing something to me, that wasn't supposed to be happening, but I couldn't stop it. It was awful."

"We'll find a way to stop it, Olivia, all of it" he said, to reassure himself as much as her.

She didn't answer him, just settled in more deeply. He relished the feel of her warm body, so comfortable, so natural against him. When she spoke again, she surprised him once more.

"You almost kissed me in New York," she murmured. "That's how I knew to trust you, that you weren't just manipulating me too."

"Only the timing was artificial," he whispered in her ear, before brushing a light kiss into her hair. "Only the timing."

She turned to face him then, meeting his gaze without hesitation or fear. She smiled, and he moved just enough to brush his lips across her own. He had time for one quick thought before she responded ardently, dispatching any further introspection: _With the coming storm, they could not promise each other the future, but they could enjoy the day_.

**********

**Final A/N:** It is done! I know some readers will probably want more, but I wanted to get this done and posted before the show returns tomorrow (and I have never written lemons before and still question my ability to do so effectively. Maybe I should leave that to oranfly!)… Thanks again to everyone who spent time with my story!!


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